


Re-masculation, and Improper Beasts.

by his tongue and liver (doubleinfinity)



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: (even though that's not really da point yo), Blow Jobs, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychotic break, Rape Recovery, two boys who love each other so much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-30
Updated: 2016-05-30
Packaged: 2018-07-11 04:48:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7029226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doubleinfinity/pseuds/his%20tongue%20and%20liver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They are early into their respective therapies; both Eddie and Chris grapple with their own traumas, beginning to understand the sinister nature of Murkoff's program. </p><p>Chris patrols at night, making sure everyone is in their place.  Eddie never stays in one place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Re-masculation, and Improper Beasts.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, thanks to Outlast I've decided to reenter the ao3 world and probably transfer over all these fics eventually!

Repeated trials had proven that it was around two in the morning that Mount Massive was most reliably at its quietest.

Chris didn’t plummet through the linear sleep cycles like others did; he dipped into stage four when necessary and spent the rest of his days intermittently dozing into eyes-wide-open brain deadness, shutting off his head to recharge so he could last the next five minutes.

For some reason, the patient overlap during this time of night managed a feigned sense of tranquility- early enough for the residents to still be asleep, but not so deeply into the darkness that the morning wailing had begun. His feet padded against the ground gently as he paced through the hallways, glancing into the open doors of others’ rooms and ascertaining that everything was as it should be.

Most of the patients were restrained throughout the night, to cut down on the budget of flashlight batteries and night staff paychecks, but as long as he astutely looped the leather around his wrists when he concluded his nightly excursions, no questions were brought up and no further chains were implemented at his bedside.

He toured cyclically through the same hallways on this floor of the unit until he grew tired, wearing down the incessant chattering of his mind, making certain that the patients were adequately tended to from the injuries of the previous day; making sure that those advanced in their treatment were securely bound and reminded of their place, so as to not ruin the privileges of everyone else.

Moonlight slipped beneath the door of an exposed room; he caught eyes with a scarred patient strapped to his bed who looked onto him with impassive recognition. Chris nodded and continued, following the sound of his own footsteps, following the protocol that he used to adhere to while stalking through the barracks to ensure the safety of everyone in his unit.

Maybe it wasn’t conducive to his treatment for him to be reenacting elements of the situation that had him admitted here on acute stress disorder, but it was what he knew had always worked. As long as there was no issue, he felt soothed, and if one did happen to arise, he was big enough to appease the lot of them. He'd never be big enough to appease himself.

Chris cursed himself when he heard an assemblage of guttural, begging noises shift down the hall towards him. He'd lost himself staring out the window again, gazing on at the wrought-in-shadow skyline obscured by barbed wire and rooftop. Recently, he kept losing himself in thought, not ever knowing how long he'd been gone; not really competent enough when it came to shaking the memories free and returning to the world they had shoved him in, this place. Was it... better, here? A different flavor, that's what.

Tightening his palms, Chris focused on the minute stream of sound and tore himself from the window, pursuing the direction in which the whimpers were coming. Small animals crawled their way into this hell all the time, and about half of them spoke english as fluently as he. But he had to check- ensure the safety. Even if it meant safety for them all to be later sacrificed in a much more systemic and grand way.

Feet going light, Chris rounded the hall until he came upon a slightly-ajar storage room, the faintest natural light from the sky spreading a white flush over the floor. Peering into the darkness, he strained until he heard the unmistakable cry of a human suffering the way only humans can. The door creaked as he edged it slowly open, suffocating the sound with his knuckles. The wailing went on all the same, a long, continuous note of stifled weeping, the sound of a mouth gagged by one's own fingers and the persistence of misery exiting obstinately around it.

The watchman stepped around littered boxes and pieces of electrical wiring until he reached the closet stuffed into the back of the room; the source of the crying. He waited a moment, trying to identify the vocal cords' owner just by the sound of heaves shaking apart each sob. Inhaling, Chris grasped the handle readyingly and wrenched it open at once, exposing the terrified eyes of a little man, gasping and scuffling as far back into the corner as he could.

Tears and phlegm streaming down the palms he used to cover his mouth, the male shrunk into himself growling, twitching away from the exposure. "Aah," he angrily rasped, shoving his head into the crook of his elbows. "Get out of here. Stay back." His temper lived short, quickly dissolving back into desperation. "Stay away," he pleaded, pulling his knees into his chest, "Please, tomorrow-" His voice liquidized into watery lugubriousness, breath failing.

"Gluskin," Chris mumbled, jarring. "Come on, let's get you back to your bed." He extended a hand, wrapping it around Eddie's gaunt forearm.

A howl ripped from Eddie's throat as he batted the meaty palm away, grasping the touched flesh in his fingers as if it were searing him. "They wait for me, that's where they're waiting," he snarled, voice repetitive, nearly rhythmic. "Can't save me from them, can't save yourself."

"Alright," Chris placated dismissively, bending down and grabbing Eddie by the entire frame, hoisting him up with arms supporting his legs and torso. He felt the male thrashing at his chest as he carried him out of the storage room, grasping him by the mouth and squeezing his jaw closed. "Gotta be quiet Gluskin," he grunted, "or I can't save us anymore." The muffled sounds from beneath his palm and Eddie's pummeling of his sternum had all but worn itself out by the time he reached his room, setting a silent and frozen Eddie onto his own bed, leather straps drooping from the frame. "There ya go." He hunched down to the floor to be level with the other, folding his hands. "Gonna be cooperative now?"

Eddie threw him a look vile enough to probe his god damn heart. "You fat fuck," he hissed, returning from the ptsd episode, and his large friend responded with a playful grimace, shoving Gluskin's face down into the pillow, rough but blithe.

"Jesus Christ, what are you gonna do if they move me over to a new unit?"

Propping up onto his elbows, Eddie studied Chris' concerned expression. His whole body shook, the flashbacks and night terrors racking him from the inside even if they were no longer visibly imposed. He ran a hand through his shock of hair, tugging on its tattered ends with his irregularly slashed nails. "I mean, love, what are any of us going to do?" He shrugged languidly before a harsh tremor took him over and plunged him into the reality of what he was asking. He pressed the hand against his face, wiping the gunk from his features. "You know how it is," he sniffed. "Fuck, you're big now."

Chris snorted, rising and sinking onto the side of the bed, sitting with his neck angled towards Eddie. "The stronger they make the memories, the stronger our bodies have to get. You, too." He jabbed at Eddie's emerging girth, the muscles that were popping out of the thin stretch of skin that the male was once shriveled within.

The male sighed, looking down at his lap. "But they're not just memories, darling, not anymore. They're real now, and they come whenever they please, even when I'm not hooked to the damn thing." Aimless rage crossed his face and flickered out. "They keep putting me into it, making me remember, and I don't want it." Eddie drew up his knees and held himself as he shivered, pulses of hopelessness and the instinct to flee fighting each other and killing his autonomic nervous system.

Chris curled his fingers and placed them over Gluskin's strained knuckles, comforting him. "I know," he rumbled softly, raking his hands back and forth. "They put me in there and I'm seeing bombs going off. Partners' limbs fly at me; I can't save them now, not anymore than I did when it happened. They used to call it shell shock. Now they call it opportunity."

"I'm trying not to lose myself," Eddie whispered to himself.

"How fortunate you are that you have somebody who cares for you," Chris purred, gnawing on sounds of distaste while taking Eddie's hand into his thick palm and measuring it, thinking of the way something as supple as a knife must perfectly slip into it. "And I despise you filthy woman killers."

Eddie lifted his head and split Chris with a contrived grin. "Oh, come now, there's an accusation."

Chris' grip went rough, crushing the smaller's meager hand in his clutch. Eddie let out a bark in pain. "I don't care why you think you're here. I don't even care about the delusions that vex you, Gluskin, but you damn well better work it out with me before they pry it out of you. Your pretty little head isn't going to last much longer, I can tell you that."

When he uncurled his grasp, Eddie snatched back his fingers, looking hurt. "What do you wish to discuss, then?" he demanded. "Huh? You want to hear my stories?"

"Shut up and let me tell you something." The fight had gone out of Chris' voice, though his tone remained gruff. He paused to extend his hand again, gentle now, and waited a moment for Eddie to latch onto it before he continued. "Wanna know why you never dealt with this? You're the fucking woman, Eddie. You keep killing them so you don't have to be but you know that's what you are- or what they made you feel like. I already know your stories; I've snatched you out of cabinets and under floorboards more times than I can count, and shit do I pay attention to who you think I am and what you think I'm gonna do to you. You're here now, and you're not dominant anymore, and you're going to snap if you can't accept that. There's no one left to project on- no one left for you to victimize in trying to rationalize what happened to you."

Eddie lowered his forehead against Chris' hand and settled there, closing his eyes. "There's rape in my eyelids." He held onto Chris with shaking arms, the tremors rolling up to the rest of his body. "Why did they keep the recordings- where did they get them? Throw away all the garbage, please get it away from them."

"Yes," Chris reluctantly promised, grabbing Eddie around the waist and hoisting him onto his lap so he could roll flat onto his back. He let Eddie lower down, onto his chest, giving the tiny thing a powerful seat atop him. Gluskin looked down upon him with supplicating, glazed eyes, holding onto the man's sides with fingers that could be called claws.

Curious, Eddie explored Chris' expression as it steadily turned tender, allowing himself to ride the rise and fall of the male's belly with each flux of oxygen. He found himself slumping as he let the smoothly balanced sensation coerce him into dozing, the energy drained from him. "What's the difference really?" he mumbled to himself, inadvertently mouthing at Chris' chest. "A couple of tubes shoved in your orifices and a surge of trauma, that's still rape. I don't want to go into the engine tomorrow. It's not ever making us better, just taking us further from our minds. I don't want to lose my mind."

"You go again already?" When Eddie pulled himself together enough to lift his neck, he found Chris' eyes shining incredulously at him.

"Ah, hah." He scoffed loudly. "You don't make progress, they increase the 'dose.' You say you do, and they punish you for lying by giving you more than you can handle." His shrug was violently noncommittal.

Chris stretched his arms into the air, letting them fall gently at Gluskin's shoulders. He ran his palms up through Eddie's hair and around his neck. "Come to me the next time they make you relive these things. If you can't, I'll be coming to find you." Eddie's anxiety smoothed out at the words, but the sight of the currently unused chains at Chris' bed mocked him. Two straps were what kept him from utter solitude.

"They, they fucking-" He clawed at his head, which Chris instinctively responded to by subduing his actions, though Eddie was too consumed by rage to register any of it. His breathing was so rabid that his words barely made it through. "You know that they chain everybody else in at night, don't you?" he spat. "You walk around, you know, you know, the people who are still sane are strapped down, the people who've barely had a bad day their whole life, and they leave me free- they want to kill me- they're fucking playing with me- they're letting me free at night just so I'll kill myself- so you can come after me, and-"

"Calm down." Chris squeezed him hard, trying to jolt him out.

Eddie struggled at him, flailing against his fleshy restraints. "Please don't touch me." He twisted his wrists in Chris' hands, trying to yank himself away. "Somebody, _do something_. Don't let him touch me." All at once, the resistance disappeared. Eddie fell limp against Chris, arms boneless and body listless, sobbing. "I am not," he managed, "The woman."

"Prove it, Gluskin."

Perplexity made its way through Eddie's agony. He flinched when he felt Chris' hands go gentle again, stroking at his face. "What do you mean, love?" he asked, voice snagging. He sat up straighter, the male's hip bones his support. As he studied the other's face he felt the protrusion of Chris' knuckles slide across his front, grating down his breastbone.

Chris shifted his hips, making a show of taking his bottom lip beneath his row of teeth. "Climb up here. I want you to fuck my mouth."

Revulsion slipped across Eddie's face, then morphed into offense, then to angry lust. "Darling, I love it when you play coy."

"I hate you woman killers," he reiterated.

Eddie snarled. "I hate you women," he responded this time, allowing the suggestion of Chris' pressure on his back to push him forward over the male's top half.

"I believe I've witnessed a breakthrough," Chris stated coldly, pulling the hospital-issue cotton from around Gluskin's waist. The smaller grabbed onto the headboard to support himself, wrapping his knuckles tightly as he felt Chris' mouth enclose around him. He let Eddie take back his power, not touching him, just enabling the illness in whatever way Eddie wished to express it. Something akin to fear twisted inside of him at the thought of Gluskin truly losing himself in larger, more permanent waves, but after all the terror he'd learned there was to be coveted here, he wasn't sure he could truly feel anything deeper than the shallow sensation of a cock against his inner cheek.

Tired and queasy, Eddie spent the next few hours lying on Chris' stomach, letting the older pat him as he watched the world brighten in his half-lidded eyes. The big faggot so gentle to him, so kind in his discreet touches.

The sky was light blue and the filth of the room newly illuminated when Chris rustled below him, stirring from a sleep he'd accidentally steeped into. "Hey kid, you have to get back to your room before they start coming up."

Eddie wiped the drool from his mouth. "I don't want to leave you."

Chris' fingers combed through the man's hair. "Come back tomorrow night."

"You might have to do some convincing."

"I'm a big guy, I can take a little rejection."

Gluskin smiled; Chris almost wanted to say it was an expression of.... sweetness. He climbed from Chris' chest and clung to the wall as he left, looking back once before slinking out into the hallway.

Chris didn't see Eddie anymore after that.

-

He no longer paced the halls at night.

It had become too difficult to walk on his swollen limbs, plus the fits of absolute rage had warranted the confinement of him to his bed. He slept deeply and continuously throughout the night, exhausted from the engine that hammered at his mind all through the day. The new staff were much more arduous about the therapy, but you know how it goes. The weak are killed off and only the strongest survive.

Coincidence had them pass one another. Chris was being led to the experiments room just as Eddie was being taken out. He wanted to say something, but the leather band shackling his mouth restrained him; he just watched out of the side of his eye as he was shuffled past.

Gluskin didn't acknowledge him. The male's eyes looked all-but torn out, wild and hemorrhaging frenzy. His body had grown rough and scarred, yet _strong_ , and Chris couldn't help but think of the way that the mind compensates by shrinking for the increase of such drastic body mass. There was an absolute ghastly poise to him, the way he stood up straight with a grin cutting his jaw apart, like he owned the fucking world and all the doctors in it.

"Finally, we head home," Chris heard him speak in the distance to one of the doctors escorting him, "Though I'd rather you let me carry you, at least once, my dear girl."

Chris might have felt some sort of sadness at seeing Eddie having lost himself, but as far as stretched his mind, he couldn't really recall who either of them had ever been to begin with.


End file.
